Backward Without Purpose
by birdwoman95
Summary: A re-do story full of cliches and cussing. I dislike the Weasley family in general and Ron in specific, so you may want to pass if he's your hero. Adult, Auror Harry is thrown back to his 10 year old body. What does he do? Kick @ and take names, of course. Rating is for the recounting of crimes by a Very Bad Man.


Backward Without Purpose

(This is my stab at time travel. Again, I play with the characters and situations. Much is not canon – especially the 19 years later stuff. Again, I try not to bash the characters, but I can't help it, I can't seem to say a nice thing about Ronald. I absolutely abhor his character and find nothing redeemable about him. I'm also not so nice to Gin Gin in this one. Though neither is a major player here, if you like them, skip this. Rating is for language and an awful recounting of crimes committed by a Very Bad Man. Not beta'd, cliches galore, and all sorts of other offensive stuff. Sorry.)

The not-so-grizzled most senior master auror sat at the bar, nursing the firewhiskey he'd bought to toast the Hogwarts acceptance of his wife's youngest child. That it'd come on Halloween, his absolutely favorite day of the year, just compounded his disgust.

Smiling without mirth, he thought of his wife's three children. His full, in depth historic health exam – a requirement of the more detective-like senior auror program he'd been promoted to a bit more than ten years prior– had come up with several surprises, not the least of which was that sometime, during his own time at Hogwarts, most likely, he'd been spiked with an impotence draught. Had it been found at any of the times he'd required medical attention in the first few years, it would have been reversed.

Needless to say, it wasn't. He'd been shooting blanks his entire adult life. And yet, three children bore his last name.

He snorted a bit, some of the remnant smoke from the intoxicant escaping his nostrils.

He should have known, really. They say girls become their mothers. She hadn't gained the heft but… well… her success on the Holyhead Harpies could quite possibly be thought of as typecasting.

Still, he never dreamed she was a cheater.

Of course, once he stopped wearing the watch his in-laws had given him, and he'd started screening all of his food and drink (a requirement of the job), he found his desire – hell, any spark of attraction or even liking – for that woman he had married… vanished. He'd tried to make the best of the situation, but it was a bitter pill.

It was telling, wasn't it? His entire life had been controlled in one way or another by some magical. He'd begun to think that his entirely evil aunt and uncle had the right of it the whole time. He'd begun to wonder if maybe his father, who'd been obsessed with Lily Evans, by all accounts, hadn't used some potion or compulsion or – gods forbid – even contract to hoodwink his mother. If he hadn't evidence to the contrary in his mother's own writing, he'd certainly not have put it past his dad on the base logic that his dad was a pureblood.

He was that disenchanted with the magical world.

It had taken some time, but about five years out of the castle, and his severe case of Stockholm syndrome dissipated. Of course, it might have corresponded with his system being completely clear of any potions or compulsions.

He wondered how long they'd been layered on him.

Or perhaps he'd been so bloody well brainwashed to be grateful that he didn't question. When he found that auror service, much like the godforsaken triwizard tournament, had contractual strictures tied to it that were life-long, he well and truly lost his shit.

No one had told him. Hermione had been too busy doing the Mouth to think of anything else, so there was no warning from that corner. Then again, maybe after the few microseconds of wedded bliss wore off for her, she realized that auror service was also til-death-do-us-part, and she hoped for an early out with her own ball-and-chain. Ronny Boy was a well-known corner-cutter and layabout. He'd almost certainly have bought it several times, had Harry not been partnering with him.

Harry's luck had held – it put him in the shittiest of situations, but kept him alive (and sometimes wishing he weren't). Of course, after a situation or two where he didn't have Hermione's brain to fall back on, and he'd almost died (or worse, been expelled), he'd, for the first time in a long, long time, taken some initiative.

He'd started studying, teaching himself. The study also gave him a reason to avoid dealing with his loveless marriage and inane partner, so he redoubled his efforts. He'd passed his masteries now in Defense and Enchanting with subspecialties in warding, charms, transfigurations, and runes. He'd learned more than enough arithmancy to O the NEWT and re-taught himself potions, too, so that he could probably, with a little preparation, pass subspecialties in those, too. Having a "hero" on tap meant that auror service could send their poster-boy into the worst life-threatening situations. He got hefted in at the deep end, and a few hospital stays convinced him to sharpen his wits, not just his instincts.

Unfortunately, this had the side effect of waking up his brain even more, which tuned him in to all of the things he'd fallen for as a kid.

Why, oh why had he trusted adults in the magical world as he did? Even his best teachers never stood up for him, or any other student.

Why did he NEVER question his "best mate"? Ron had abandoned him more than once and had been a great big barrier to ever making any other friends, what with his Mouth only being good for disgusting eating habits and insulting others.

Why did he get back together with GinGin, the girl who knew he'd not be happy unless he was "off chasing Voldemort" – a clear indication that she saw the figurehead, not the boy, when she looked at him? She'd been easy, true, but he could have done better. He didn't need to settle.

But he was accustomed to settling. To not asking questions.

Sighing, he settled his bill. Time to go "home," to the place that wasn't home at all.

And then his medallion warmed. The medallion that was a curse and a blessing: calling him into danger; calling him away from his "family."

Apparating to the coordinates after sending a patronus to GinGin, he hoped for a long and uncomplicated night.

He got half his wish.

Suspicious readings of strange magical signatures and unknown spell residue had caused the low-level aurors to push the problem up the chain. The strange rune clusters and even-stranger witch who hid herself behind a shield of mixed muggle-magical origin caused the second-tier aurors to call upon the big-guns: Potter and Weasley.

Ron had kept his tradition of claim-jumping when Harry had success and blamstorming when the shit hit the fan. Harry had lost any respect he'd ever had for the ginger after Harry had saved a child a few months into their service together then read about how Ron had done the saving in the Prophet the next day, yet, a few weeks earlier, when Ron had tripped a spell chain that Harry hadn't completely dismantled yet, Harry had gotten both the public and auror office reprimands.

Of course, time had shown that it really was Harry that did all the work. Everyone in the service knew it. Most tolerated Ron, at best, and pitied Harry being forced to work with him. But a contract was a contract, and Harry mitigated the mistakes that The Mouth made better than anyone else. So, although Harry now had the title of Most Senior Master Auror, and Ronald had just made Auror, second grade (the first step above junior auror), they were still partnered.

Harry often wondered who he'd pissed off – or on - in a previous life.

So it was that Ron sidled up next to Harry, who was trying to decipher the cluster in front of him. "What do we have, Harry?"

"We?" Harry's filter toward his fellow magicals was almost non-existent that night. His disgust for Ronald was completely apparent now, so much so that even that oblivious man could catch it. Ron's ears reddened – a sign he was about to blow.

"You think you're such hot shite, Potter. You wouldn't even be here without me, yeah? So just do your part and I'll do mine."

Harry looked away from the rune cluster he was studying – it had temporal markings, to be sure, so the witch inside the protections would be punished to the highest extent of the law. Mucking about with the timeline was not acceptable. There was something strange about the rune groupings, though. Harry was trying to put his finger on it when RonRon pissed him off, yet again.

"Just what specialty is that, Ron? There's nothing here to eat, no quiddich to critique, and your nanosecond of fame for chess passed our first year at Hogwarts. So get out of the way and let the big boys do the job, yeah? You can claim credit or cast blame tomorrow, just like you always do." Harry turned back to the cluster, dismissing the oaf from his brain and not even noting the complete, stunned silence of the rest of the aurors around him.

No one had ever seen Potter lose it before. Though the details of his medicals were completely secret, his magical affinity was off the charts. He was powerful, in a way that hadn't been seen in a long time. If he'd had the brains of Dumbledore or the ambition of Voldemort, the magical world would have been in for yet another dark (or light) lord of epic proportion. Perhaps that was why Shacklebolt had nailed Harry into a contract as soon as possible after the war.

No one seemed to have any remorse that they'd kept this man a virtual slave all of his life. It wasn't like he could do anything about it.

While Harry compulsively did his best to make heads and tales of the markings in front of him so that he could dismantle them with the least damage to all, Ron got tired of being dismissed. Once again, he let his temper overrule any sense that he had, and he sent a curse at Harry. Harry, who'd had more than one loathsome git try to curse him in the back, had a sixth sense for these attacks, and he moved.

The magic sailed past him into the rune cluster.

The runes absorbed the magic. They activated. Harry felt himself being drained by them.

And then he felt no more.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

"Fuck My Life." Harry Potter muttered to himself, then frowned. His head hurt like he had dwarves mining in it for a week or so. But his voice… it wasn't right. Taking stock of his surroundings, he realized he wasn't at Mungos or any other hospital. He was locked in a box. He'd been taken prisoner.

But what was wrong with his voice?

He did a mental and physical inventory. He ached everywhere, was hungry enough that he was reaching for his mokeskin bag, only to find it was gone. His mind seemed to be okay, though. Reaching with his magic, he could feel some wards, a bit farther out, but nothing magical keeping him in the box. He had some wandless, so he reached out with as much as he could muster and did an alohamora.

And found himself transported to hell.

He was in the cupboard under the stairs. It was dark – he could hear what sounded like Vernon snorting away in the upstairs. Dudley's Halloween costume – Mummy's little Duddykins had been a policeman that year, apparently – was still on the sofa along with a gargantuan pile of candy.

Harry helped himself to a Mars bar while he mulled his problem.

Was he unconscious then, trapped in the hell of his past in his mind? Thinking on the rune cluster that Weasley had triggered, Harry put the runes together with the outer cluster he'd dismantled.

It was temporal, he remembered that much.

Had he been sent back in time?

How to handle this… he thought as he stealthily crept into the kitchen and fixed himself a large meal. The candy had merely whet his appetite. He noted that the calendar had already been set forward to November of 1990.

He'd lost almost thirty years.

He could truly be in his mind or under some spell, like the Longbottoms had been under, that kept him in a private hell. If so, he'd figured that if he did his best to improve his situation, then he was beating that spell. Alternately: if he'd been thrown back to live the whole shitestorm that was his life again?

Oh, he was definitely doing it differently this time.

"Boy, what do you think you're doing?" a rudely awakened Vernon Dursley was hustling his not-inconsiderable girth across the kitchen toward his nephew. His nephew who had escaped the confinement of the cupboard. His nephew who was enfouling the kitchen with his freakishness at the ungodly hour at 2am.

"I'm feeding myself, since you lot always seem to forget to. Watch yourself there, Vernon." Harry waved a hand at his uncle and the man froze. Petunia's eyes widened at this confirmation that her freak of a nephew had come fully into his freakish powers.

"I'm not the boy you locked in yesterday. The freaks did something to me – yes, Petunia, I agree with you wholeheartedly. They're a bunch of lazy, self-centered freaks. I've learned that over the last decade or so. Anyhow, the freaks messed up. I went to work last night – an auror in my late thirties. My mind – and magic – are still in their late thirties," the last was delivered with an unstated warning, and both chronological adults in the room lost the wind from their sails.

Harry took a bite as he mulled what he wanted to say.

"I'm here because my parents were slaughtered in a war. But their death ended the war. So, I got swept aside, thrust into your nurturing arms. Last time, I didn't even know about magic until they kidnapped me back again for school. And it was just a mess.

"After a few years, the big bad freak – the one who killed my parents - came back, gunning for me. The bearded freak – don't say his name, Petunia, if you speak of the devil, he'll appear – anyway, he had done nothing to prepare me. The bad freak came after me… and you. You had, no matter how unwillingly, protected me all those years. So, you became a target." He paused as he thought how he wanted to present the information. He'd truly learned his lessons of half-truths and slyly-semi-answered questions at the knee of Dumbledore. The Dursleys would be the first to reap from those lessons in this timestream/mindscape.

"Dudley was attacked by dementors. Yeah, I see you remember what they are, Petunia. That's the best memory I have of your fates." It wasn't a lie. They had escaped justice completely, which was an extremely unpleasant memory for Harry. "If you want to avoid the freaks winning this time, I suggest you listen. It is, of course, your choice."

Petunia had gotten over some of her shock at this point and was back to her sniffing superiority.

"As though we normal people would ever listen to a freak like you."

"Do you really think you're normal?" Harry huffed out a humorless laugh. "That the bearded freak hasn't completely corrupted you already? Think about this: what if you heard that Mrs. Polkiss was keeping a small boy in the boot cupboard in her house? Starving him? Encouraging her son to beat him? Would you think that was completely normal?"

Vernon shuddered with the implication. Just a week prior, another manager at Grunnings had been sent to prison on abuse charges. What had Vernon and Petunia been thinking? Or had they… "He made us do this? Act like this?"

Harry shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised."

Fury now crossed the faces of both Dursleys.

"What should we do, then? Continue on?"

Harry pretended to think. He had them right where he wanted them.

"I can probably find and counter any freakishness he's perpetrated on you. Gonna need to take care of some stuff first, though, as he's a mighty powerful freak. Mostly, I need to get a wand, which I will be able to do with a little help from you. You two will write a notarized statement that you've received no funds for my care. I can take it from there – though I'd appreciate a ride to London. Once I have a functioning wand, I'll be able to free you from anything I can find. And then it's time to plan for the long term."

"Grunnings has been advertising for positions overseas," Vernon mumbled. He didn't want to leave Britain. Britain was his home and, in his mind, superior to any foreign land. But if it was the only way to protect his family, it was what he would do.

Harry was surprised to hear actual thought escape Vernon's lips. Perhaps he wasn't a complete waste of oxygen. But if this was going to work…

"You can't tell anyone. He's got at least one spy in this neighborhood – the cat lady. And they aren't normal cats, so they spy, too. Apply in any English speaking country except Canada – they trust the British Ministry too much there. They'd deport you if the bearded freak asked."

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Two days later (days with real, full meals, few chores, and kipping on the couch), after Vernon and Petunia visited a notary and got the requested document, Vernon gave Harry a lift to London. Both men were silent on the trip: Vernon from fear; Harry from planning.

He had to deal with the goblins. He HATED dealing with goblins.

He'd practiced a wandless notice-me-not. He waited outside the Leaky for someone who looked as though they were going through to the other side, and he coattailed on them. Then he headed straight to Gringotts. The doorway of the ancient bank nullified his magic, but he was in the doors now. Gringotts was goblin territory; even if someone noticed Harry or recognized him, they'd be fools to interfere with banking custom.

That could lose a wizard his wand hand.

Patiently waiting in line, Harry stood stock still. His face was stone and showed no emotion.

When he got to the teller, he asked to meet with a manager. The goblin looked at him.

Harry stared back.

The goblin, after a long moment, grunted.

Harry was escorted back to an office.

"You look like Potter. You will wish to speak to the Potter account manager?"

"I am Potter. I will take the test to prove it. And no, I do not want the Potter account manager. I want a bank manager. Ragnok, if he's free."

The teller dropped a sample of Harry's blood into a potion then left the room. Two guards stood by the door with sharp swords and eager grimaces.

Pretending to be Potter was a favorite pass-time of many who had fallen to goblin blades in recent years.

An hour or so later, the door opened. An obvious high-ranking goblin (Harry knew him to be the bank "president," Ragnok) entered.

"Potter. The real Potter. We thought for sure you'd be imposter number 29. How can Gringotts serve you today."

"I come to you with opportunity. Here is conclusive evidence that no money from the Potter vaults has been used for my care. If any money has been removed, then you can use this document in prosecution of theft. If there's enough funds recovered from the thief, I'd appreciate the Potter funds being returned and any missed interest restored."

A quick look at the ledger made the goblin grunt in a self-satisfied manner. There would be hunting and profit. But no wizard allowed the goblins access to another wizard without reason.

"What do you want, wizard child?"

"Just any possessions from when my parents died. I read that the Goblin Nation had been tasked with collecting them."

The goblin grunted again, this time in resignation. The goblins had been charged with collecting but not returning. They had planned on holding the possessions until the Potter heir specifically asked for them – or for eternity. After all, getting one over on a wizard was always a worthwhile cause. Even if the wizard was a child. It was still human.

Harry, on the other hand, was enjoying his turnabout on the goblins. It was a much better ending than it had been the last time.

In the old timeline, the little shit goblins had kept the box of his parents' things hidden from him. After the war, Harry had learnt to deal with the buggers. He'd bargained away the Lestrange vault – as head of Black, he automatically inherited the vault – in exchange for access to all Potter funds and properties – unchecked. Though he was slow on the uptake, the betrayal by Griphook and the subsequent grab for his funds by the goblins had given Harry quite a hefty hatred for the species.

When he found that they'd nicked his stuff? And that the original goblin keeper of the Potter vault had conspired with a distant Black relation to steal "guardian" funds from the trust for all of Harry's minority? Oh, they had their excuses. The box of Potter possessions was meant to be collected, but there had been no direction for disbursement back to Harry… ever. The funds, well, the paperwork LOOKED right, or so they said.

This time, there'd be none of that. The goblin would be beheaded for conspiring and theft – in reality, for getting caught. But the Black cousin, who'd stolen? He'd be serving in the goblin mines for the remnants of his life. He'd be a beast of burden and his entire estate would be confiscated. Harry would get his money back, with interest, and the death eater would eat some real death.

Harry smiled as the goblin sent for the Potter/Godric's Hollow box. Harry needed only to get into the box. His father's wand worked well for him in terms of transfigurations, curses, hexes, jinxes and the counters. His mother's, surprisingly, worked well when he used it off-hand, and worked excellently for charms and enchantments. He'd learnt to write runes well off-hand; with the number of times DiddyDiddums had broken his favored right arm, it was no hardship to write as a southpaw.

The goblin stood and said the box had been moved to Harry's trust vault, and that Harry could go down now, so long as he swore not to tell anyone he'd been let into his vault before his eleventh birthday. As this worked quite well for Harry, the "boy" agreed.

Down into the tunnels they went. Harry stepped inside the vault and opened the box. The first thing he called to himself was his Dad's small work satchel (more like a sporran), which had notice-me-not charms and several (illegal) expansion charms on it, not unlike Hermione's Beaded Bag of yore. Into Dad's satchel went Mom's and Dad's (untraceable) wands and holsters, Mom's magical bookcase, her potions kit, and Dad's rune engraving kit. Dad's glasses with their magical properties were exchanged for the ones Harry was currently wearing. The money pouch with funds from both worlds and a set of muggle ID that resembled Harry – or would, with some slight changes - would come in use (as soon as Harry brewed some aging potion). He also pulled out two small boxes. They – or rather, their contents – would be of great use later on.

Smiling at the goblin as he re-sealed the vault, Harry plotted and planned. He had until September 1 next to get it all done.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Harry spent the next few months barely passing school, making several necessary potions, getting some of his own back on the neighborhood bullies with a few of those potions, and getting himself as healthy as possible. He put some very light compulsions on his relatives, and life at Privet suddenly became bearable.

But he was still a runt that had suffered almost 10 years of neglect and abuse. It was a conundrum. He needed to get healing to correct these problems, but if he were going to make it to the Irish magical refuge, he'd need all the energy he could muster. So he had to bide his time, eating, resting, exercising.

When winter holiday was about to start, he approached his guardians again. "I'm going to leave for a week or so over Christmas. I'm going to have some of the bad freak residue removed from me. It should help us all."

Vernon looked relieved at this, but Petunia looked concerned.

"Won't the spy notice you're gone?"

Harry shrugged. "If she asks, just pretend to lock me down again – she's never bothered about that before."

"Why would she? Freak," Vernon muttered. Since his nephew had… changed, life had become much more pleasant. He felt better than he had in years. He could tell Tuney did, too. All because the boy had learned the truth and freed them from freakishness. Of course, the boy had the power to change all that again, so Vernon tread lightly around him.

He'd no idea what Harry'd really done, but as he'd benefited, it didn't really matter.

On the day after term ended, Harry went to the back yard. Behind a grouping of hydrangea bushes, he changed into his animagus form – that of a crow. Checking himself – it was the first time he'd done the transformation since he'd gotten back – he winged his way west. It took some time – though the saying "as the crow flies" was apt. He'd no need to follow a motorway, but instead relied on his innate animal senses to find the way to the sea. Once there, he roosted on a commuting ferry. He was headed to the Eire, back to the group that had once cleansed him of the last of the potions and magics that had so stunted his life.

Then, he'd still suffered headaches, and he'd been told by another master auror about the coven with no love for dark magic. Then, they'd lamented that no one had bothered to fix his growth issues while he was still growing. Then, he'd gone and they'd purged the last remnants of the horcrux, and they'd wondered aloud why no one had bothered to do so before.

He'd never needed another AK to the face. He'd just needed some Irish wizards and witches. Damn Dumbledore and his isolationist "British is Best" policy.

He was counting on the idea they could address the malnutrition issues, too. Again, they'd tried last time, but as his growth plates were gone by the time he'd got to the refuge, there was little the coven could do. As he was all of ten years old, physically, this time, he was hoping for better.

He spent a week in their blessed, peaceful presence. Not only did they remove the horcrux and fix his growth issues, they helped him find some measure of calm and peace.

He had a feeling occlumency, and his was already pretty strong, would be much easier now that he'd been shown how to find that peace.

Leaving a generous payment and a serious IOU, he winged his way back to a boat, slept his way back to Wales, and then made his way to London.

Now that he was fully healed, it was time for step two of his plan for the goblins.

Before entering the bank, he paused to pull out the two boxes he'd originally taken from his parents' things. They contained family rings. The first showed his status as Potter, the second as Black. He smiled and the visage was that of one whose plans were coming together.

The teller greeted him with a snarl and passed him to Ragnok with only a forty minute delay.

"You look much… different, Mr. Potter," the goblin greeted.

"Yes, major healing will do that. I have need, Ragnok, to get into the LeStrange vault." What point are pleasantries with such an unpleasant race?

"You cannot do that."

"I think I can." He showed the ring. "I am heir Black. The head is currently… incapacitated. LeStrange owes fealty to Black. They are also incapacitated. And you need to see what they have put in your vault."

The goblins' eyes narrowed with suspicion.

When they opened the vault, Harry used a lasso charm to pull only the cup out of the vault. "Close it again, please." The low-ranking goblin did so, and they went back to Ragnok's office. "Do you have a curse-breaker available?"

The goblin's eyes focused first on Harry, then on the cup. A brief glimmer was the only hint Harry had that the goblin knew exactly what Harry held.

Goblins would make excellent poker players.

"I was a curse breaker before I began my rise in rank. I see now what you mean. But, Mr. Potter, how did you know of it?"

Harry smiled. He pulled his fringe aside to show his much-healed scar. "This," he pointed at the mark, "WAS one of those. It gave me access to certain knowledge. I have here a list of others I would like to hire you get for me, along with the protections on them. I have access to the Black estate. That should pay for your services. In fact, I think LeStrange shall pay for your services."

Though the goblins didn't show emotion to most, Harry figured he could see the wheels turning and the greed taking over. "What do you expect to do with them?"

"Oh, I think a volcano will take care of them."

The goblin's eyes widened. Treasure, invaluable, historical treasure, destroyed? No, that would not do. Harry saw the look and hid a smirk. He had the greedy little blighters hooked. "Mr. Potter. If you will agree, we will obtain the objects and take out the pollution in exchange for the possession of the object. If there are any other objects of value…"

"There are. I am in a better position to get one than you are: it's at Hogwarts. However, if you give me means to get it to you, I will send it as soon as I can get to it. This cup, as you know, is purported to have healing powers. Meanwhile, the other two I know you can get to better than I are a locket, Slytherin's locket, that allows the bearer to speak the language of the snake. Not sure if that's useful to you or not. It's in a cave that requires blood sacrifice for entry. There's a lake full of inferi and a potion that is the some sort of liquid nightmare. I don't really understand it. There's also a ring, supposedly the Gaunt family ring, but in reality, the ressurection stone – a deathly hollow. I can see how that would certainly be of use to the nation. That one is in or near a village called Little Hangleton. There's a shack that was the last home of the Gaunt family. It has confounding spells around it. And there's all sort of snakes everywhere. Oh, and the ring itself has some kind of spell that makes you want to put it on, but if you do, you rot almost immediately. It's weird, you know. I know these things, but I've no idea what they mean." Harry paused, looking off into space, hoping to look a bit more guileless than he'd obviously come across.

Then he mentally shrugged. If the goblins suspected, no one on the human side would believe them anyway.

"Anyway, I wrote it all down, including the one in Hogwarts. But like I said, I think I can get that one more easily than you can."

He handed Ragnok a letter that did, indeed, hold as much detail as he remembered about the horcrux sites. As a master occlumens, his memory was prodigious. In the old timeline, Harry had decided, after finding his scar had remnants of evil in it, to cleanse the places Voldy had hidden his soul pieces, in case an unsuspecting muggle happened by. It was that knowledge that he gave to the goblins now.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Time passed, as it was wont to do. Harry bought some new – used – clothes. These actually fit him and weren't stained/threadbare. He really thought of clothes as a way to cover his nakedness, but figured he should put some effort into looking less like a derelict. He used a metamorphic glamour – every day, he revealed a bit more of his true stature to the muggles around him so they wouldn't remark on his miraculous growth spurt. He worked on potions and updating his father's small satchel to be almost as good as his mokeskin bag had been.

When his Hogwarts letter came, he sent back a reply stating that he'd like someone to accompany him to make his purchases, as his relatives were very uncomfortable with magic.

He expected McGonagall or Flitwick. He got Hagrid. It was surprising to him. After all, he'd indicated he obviously knew of magic, so if that was part of the "plan," it was defunct.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't about keeping Harry in the dark. Perhaps the headmaster was worried for the safety of the Boy Who Lived.

Right.

This time, when Hagrid handed the teller the key, the goblin looked at it with suspicion and indicated that Harry's presence would be needed with his vault manager at his earliest convenience. Hagrid frowned. Harry smiled.

"Hagrid, I'd like to see what my parents have left me before I purchase anything anyway. This is a good way to do so. Why don't you take care of your business while I'm talking to my vault manager?"

When Harry was escorted in, he saw that Ragnok did not look pleased. "Your vault first. We have returned all stolen moneys with interest. We have also… reclaimed money from the companies of those who would sell things in your image or use your name. Your former vault manager had held onto those profits for himself. He lost the profits and his head. Now that you have your key, we will reclaim all others. This should secure it for you."

Harry nodded in acknowledgment. He'd not thought there would be any other benefits to working with the goblins, but here was one he never thought of. They were working in his interest. "Now, we've claimed the ring, and it was what you said. But the locket was a fake."

Harry shook his head and furrowed his brow in thought. He looked at the locket that Ragnok held. "No, no that's not the locket. It had a snake in the shape of an S…"

"There was a note inside that may make sense to you?" Ragnok handed Harry the note from the doomed Regulus Black. He read it, shaking his head at the fate of the poor youth, then stopped.

"RAB. Regulus Black. That's who helped Voldy hide this one. With an elf… I wonder… sir, do you mind if I attempt to call a house elf into our presence?"

Ragnok did not mind, and Harry called to Kreacher.

"What filthy wizard has called Kreacher from mistress's side?" the wizened creature asked.

"Kreacher, I am heir Black. You will follow my commands. Answer my question with a truthful yes or no," the elf looked at Harry with unadulterated hate. "Do you recognize this locket?"

Upon seeing Regulus's locket, the elf's face fell. "Yes."

"Do you know where the other locket – the one this replaced – is?"

"Yes," Kreacher ground out from his clenched teeth.

"Can you bring the other locket – the one that was Slytherin's – here without harming yourself?" Both the goblin and the elf looked a bit surprised by that question.

"Yes," the elf answered, a bit less violently.

"Would you consent to bringing that locket here, in order that the bad magic inside it might be cleansed?"

Hope – or at least Harry thought it might be hope – warred with mistrust in the Elf's eye. "Yes," Kreacher stated, with no emotion in its voice.

Harry now turned to Ragnok, "Sir, would you consent to a trade of this locket for the other, on the condition that you show the elf that you have cleansed the bad magic from the other?"

Ragnok hesitated only because he could not believe that the human was treating an elf – a lowly elf for Goldenshard's sake – with respect.

What was the human up to?

"Yes. But you shall not be present."

Harry shrugged, "I don't need to be. It's between you two now. Are we square? May I go to my vault now?"

"Wait." Ragnok turned to the elf. "Elf, bring the locket." Kreacher popped out and popped back in. He trusted goblins no more than this filthy blood traitor. But he'd had no luck with the locket. He could always pop right back out.

Harry waited ten minutes. Ragnok came back in looking pleased – for a goblin. "We have made the trade. The locket is cleansed, does what you said it would, and is ours. You acted with… honor." The goblin looked almost startled at that realization. He stopped, then opened a drawer in his desk. "Here are three treasure bags. They have expansion and magic-block on them. You can put anything in them and if there are curses on those objects, they will be contained. If the tiara is cursed as you say, this is a safe way to contain it. If there are any other cursed objects of value that you wish to dispose of…"

Harry held in the smirk. Of course Ragnok was hoping for more treasure. Four priceless artifacts imbued with incredible, useful magic wasn't enough.

Then again, he might like the Philosopher's stone. If Dumbles was going to destroy it, why not let the goblins play for a while? He'd already got more than he hoped for out of the bargain, and they were killing off Voldy for him. If he could manage to get his hands on the diary…

He went back to the lobby after taking a quick trip to his incredibly full vault. He took more than enough money for the year.

As Hagrid took Harry through the alley, Harry was not nearly so malleable as he was in the past. He purchased what he wanted. Not the basic trunk, but one that would hold all of his things, be more secure, and a bit easier to carry. Not just standard robes but a few other robes and more protection on all of them. Not just a wand (and the holly/phoenix feather wand was STILL his, even with Voldy gone! Yes!) but also a wand holster for his arm – his mother's wouldn't work for long now that he was truly growing. Not just the school books but a few extras – though he had most of the reference material he needed in his mom's portable library, there were some books lost in the Potter Manor fire that she hadn't replaced and he wanted.

The only thing that was the same was Hedwig. Hagrid presented her to Harry as a birthday present. Harry almost cried when he saw her. This time, this time he'd take better care. His eyes met hers and he could feel the familiar bond begin to form. He went to the pet store immediately and bought everything he needed to pamper his number-one girl.

It was all in place, he thought to himself as he meditated in the living room that evening. He'd ensured his financial future. He'd gone so far as to put his signature on record with the goblins, and he'd not sign ANYTHING else – no more forced contracts for him! He'd fixed his health and magic. The goblins were taking care of most of the foul horcruxes, so Voldy would soon be a thing of the past. He only had a few things left to take care of:

First, he had to free Sirius. That would be handily done once he stole Pettigrew from the Mouth. It would mean joining house Gryffindork again, but he could put up with those kids as well as any of the others. Taking out Pettigrew was also on the list, hand in hand with Sirius.

Of course, being in Gryffindork, he'd be able to steal the Marauders' map from the Weasley twins. He'd have to plan that carefully, but no way was he leaving a Potter heirloom in the Weasel family. He'd no sooner leave it in the hands of Snivellous.

And thinking of death eaters, he had to take care of Crouch. Both of them, actually. The elder, a tyrannical hypocrite of gargantuan proportions, had kept his son under an unforgiveable in his basement since the mid-80's, Harry was sure. Junior hadn't been in prison ten years – the dementors would have drained him. So, betting odds were that he was in place, in Winky's tender care.

Nagini - was the snake a Horcrux? Did it even exist yet? Harry didn't think the snake was a horcrux until after Wormtail had brought Voldemort's spirit back from wherever it was licking its wounds. It was a risk, but Harry wasn't in a position to go snake hunting.

The diary, though. The diary posed a problem. He had to get rid of all the soul pieces before he "confronted" Quirrel. Then, when Lily's spell did its final damage, the unanchored soul sliver would go to hell or wherever it belonged. Harry was so anxious to get it done. But he had to get rid of that diary.

Thinking on how he'd finagled Kreacher into helping with the locket gave him an idea. Smirking, he opened a window, changed into his crow form, flew away from the wards, and apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld place. He stood outside, seeing that no fidelius was yet in place. On the stoop, he called Kreacher to him.

"Half-blood heir calls Kreacher?" the elf grumbled, not quite resentfully.

"Yes. I would speak to you of the foul locket. I wanted you to know that there is another piece."

"Another locket? Master Regulus would not stand for it! He would not help with another!"

"Your master didn't. Someone else did. Would you help me get it to the goblins, to cleanse it also?"

"Half-blood could order Kreacher to do so. But yes, Kreacher would do so without orders as Master Regulus would have wanted it."

"Can you get into Malfoy Manor without harm to yourself?"

"Kreacher can."

"Can you get into the hidden room under the drawing room without harm to yourself?"

"Kreacher can."

"In that room is a leather-bound diary." Harry handed him a conjured version of the same book. "It looks like this. If you go there, if you see this diary, you should touch it only with cloth. Replace it with this one only if you can do so without harming yourself. If you can, take the original enfouled one to the goblins. Tell them to take the fee for destruction out of the LeStrange vault. Tell no one else about this unless I am dead or give you permission to do so."

The elf looked at the book and again at Harry before nodding. "Kreacher will."

"One more thing. I plan on living in Number 12 by next summer – Christmas if I can manage it. Is this an issue for you?"

"No, Half-blood masterling."

"Great. I would like the house to be worthy of the Black name. I do not wish to tax you, as you are a good and loyal elf and I would like you to serve house Black for years to come. How do you suggest both goals can be accomplished?"

Kreacher once again studied Harry then seemed to come to a decision.

"Little master is master of house black. Black has primacy over Malfoy. Take one of the Malfoy elves."

Harry smirked. "As heir Black, I call Dobby, formerly of house Malfoy, to serve me."

A beaten, bedraggled elf suddenly appeared on the stoop of Number 12. Harry wondered how he would explain to Dobby, and then realized he didn't have to. Elf magic was stranger than regular magic, and that was saying something!

"Master Harry Potter is best master ever," the new elf warbled, his eyes full of tears of joy.

"Welcome to House Black, Dobby. Kreacher is the primary elf. Follow his orders. Neither of you is to harm yourself or punish yourself or exhaust yourself. You have until Christmas to make the house livable. If you need more help or more time, you are to contact me. If you have any problems, you are to contact me. Does that sound fair?"

September first came without fanfare. Harry wished the Dursleys adieu almost amicably. Vernon said he'd send a message if he got a transfer, and Harry should write only if he needed shelter either at Christmas or summer. Harry caught the knight bus and was whisked into London proper.

As he stood, surveying the entrance to platform 9 ¾, memories overcame him. He remembered his first time here… and the Weasley clan serendipitously coming across his lost self. He remembered how they were so kind in helping him onto the platform.

So very altruistic of them, he was certain.

This time, he was plenty early to avoid that trap. Just as he passed to through the portal, he heard a voice…

Not a Weasley voice, no…

"Mum, Dad, I'll owl you as soon as I can, let you know how the castle is. It's an adventure, right?" her voice betrayed nerves and excitement. But it didn't quite ring true to Harry.

"It certainly is, Princess. Now hug your mum and me and get onto the train!" the voice was concerned but strong. Her father was encouraging her even as he feared for her.

The man had no idea just how much he SHOULD fear for his daughter. But Harry would protect her this time.

Hugging her parents, she turned swiftly toward the train. She noticed him watching her.

Perhaps she noticed that his eyes were older than his age.

She said nothing until her father passed her trunk up to her and Harry boarded behind her.

"Harry?" she asked hesitantly.

And there it was: confirmation.

Harry studied her for a moment. "Not here. Let's get a compartment."

When Harry had sealed and protected the door, he turned back to her.

He pulled her into a hug, "Oh, Hermione, it's so good to see you."

"You're not mad?"

"Mad?"

"I pulled you away from your family, from your life. I won't lie, I did it on purpose. You have to understand," she was building up a head of steam, and he put his finger over her lips.

"Stop. You saved me from hell. I was trapped, as you were. When did you figure it out?"

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and her eyes filled with tears of relief.

"When I was pregnant with the twins, they had to stop the potions. The necklace that had the compulsions on it was a cheap thing, I took it off one day, and a week later, my mind was clear."

"Oh, God, Hermione. All those years…"

"It wasn't completely bad. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I potioned him up to his eybrows with impotence potion and compelled him to forget I existed unless someone asked about me."

"But daily, when I looked at Rose and Hugo, I saw the product of rape. It got so I could barely be in the same room as them. And he'd walk in and he'd say something or do something… Harry I swear, if I hadn't done this, I'd have killed him.

"If it didn't work, at least I wouldn't have killed anyone."

He let that sink in, then, with head tilted in question, he asked, "So, not that I'm not grateful, but why bring me into it?"

"I worked on the arithmantic properties of the spell for years. The normal circle would have taken me back three times three. Not long enough. I needed another core, one at least at least as big as mine, to power it further."

"Three times three times three," he nodded, thinking aloud. "I figured 27 years wasn't random… but it was quite a surprise to wind up back in that cupboard."

Her eyes widened. "Cupboard?! The Dursleys kept you in a cupboard?! I knew it was bad there but…"

He laughed, "It was bad last time. This time? With my wandless? Not so much."

Studying his grin for a moment, she finally relaxed. He really did look healthier than he ever had the last time they'd gone through this. The last time she'd seen him – that stupid Weasley reunion – he'd still been a sticky thing. He'd never recovered before because he'd spent too much of his youth starving. His family had all been healthy enough of course…

His family…

"Harry, I'm so sorry about your kids," she started to apologize.

He interrupted her with a humorless laugh. "About that. They weren't mine."

Shock kept her silent. Her jaw literally dropped as she goggled at him.

"Yeah. Seems I was spiked with impotence potion, probably at Hogwarts. I figure there were a couple of possibilities. She wanted to have my kids, but I couldn't have kids, so she went and got inseminated magically…"

"Or that treacherous bitch was cheating on you. Not enough to trap you in marriage. Not enough to rape you and bind you legally, magically," She paused, biting her lip. Her falling into foul language showed just how out of control she was, and that scared her. "Harry, this is bad. I still want to kill them. The whole raping, potioning horde of them. Weasleys. And this lot hasn't even done anything… yet. I can't believe I agree with that idiot Malfoy about anything, but they are a bad, bad family."

"It's not them, it's this whole, sick society. They don't even see that what they do is wrong. I firmly believe the Weasleys thought they were doing us a solid, bringing us into their Big Happy Family. And considering who we could have been sold to…" Harry shook his head, then looked quizzically at Hermione. "Knowing all this, I have to ask: Why are you here?"

She sighed. "The magical government. They would bind my magic and wipe my mind. Most of those wipes damage the recipients."

He was silent at that. Hermione would never allow anything that might damage that brilliant mind of hers. He didn't blame her. But how would her talent escape the notice of the purebloods?

"So what's your plan?" He asked, knowing she'd have one.

"Ravenclaw. Head down. Get my non-magical degrees too. At 17? I'm gone."

He smiled. "Me too. But will it be enough? They had me coerced into contracts at 17…"

She looked a little sick at that. "I can downplay my performance to that of the average claw. I can keep my books with muggle covers – make them look like literature. But I don't know how I can block them from potioning me or compelling me…" her voice became a bit watery as she looked first out the window, then back at her best friend. "Harry, if it happens again…"

His eyes hardened. "It won't. We won't let it. Forewarned and all that."

A plan began to form at the back of his brain. He'd let it simmer and have the details in place before she really had to worry.

"So, how have you handled being back here? What have you done to change things?" Hermione asked, trying to put the concerns aside.

"Change things? This from 'bad things happen when you mess about with the timeline' Granger?"

"Quiet, you. I figured for changes. We've not gone back so much as sideways. It's a Heisenberg universe we've created – probably collapsed our old reality in doing so."

"Ooh, talk physics to me, Hermione."

"Prat," she laughed, lightly slapping his arm.

He took a deep breath in. "Good thing you knew I'd change the timeline. Well, the first thing I did was go to Gringotts."

Her eyes widened. "You detest the little cretins."

"I do," he nodded in agreement, "but this time, I got them doing what I want." He went on to explain how he had maneuvered the goblins into doing his bidding, giving his family possessions back and destroying horcruxes.

"That's brilliant. Their greed is blinding them to the idea that they're taking sides. They're killing Voldemort. They just don't realize what that means. If the death eaters ever find out…" she worried her lip.

"Totally not my problem," holding up his hands, he continued, "So, I got what I wanted. They've destroyed the ring, the locket, the diary and the cup. I'll get them the tiara over Christmas hols."

"What about the snake?" she asked

Harry's brow furrowed. "Not sure he's made that one yet. And if he has, well, that's the last one he could make."

"How can you know that?" She asked, a little fear creeping into her voice.

"Hermione, I became a total bookworm. You know that. I'm sure The Mouth complained about it, about me, to you."

She nodded

"One of the things I did was clean up the remnants of Voldies 'cruxes. Including the one in my head. In doing so, I came across a coven of magicals that knew a lot about them – it's one of their missions to destroy any horcruxes they hear of. Apparently, Voldie didn't 'go farther than anyone' in his quest. Others before him had made more than one. But if you go past 8 – an overall 9 part soul – the remaining fraction is too small and simply dissipates."

She smiled. "You've really changed, but yet, going straight to the goblins shows me you're still the 'jump first ask questions later' Harry I know."

"You've really no idea. Anyhow, I got my parents' stuff back straight off. My dad had this bag," bringing her attention to the small satchel effectively nullified the notice-me-not on it for Hermione. "It's a lot like your beaded bag – with some improvements. Along with the bottomless, auto retrieve, feather light, and damage-prevention enchantments (that I think Mum put on for Dad), I ramped up the notice-me-not on it and I locked it to my magic. I also put some pouches and pockets on the outside – for things like the cloak and the map, and a holster on the top for my dad's wand so that I can still carry all three constantly."

Hermione was biting her lip, "You think you'll get them back? The map and cloak?"

Harry's eyes hardened.

"My family heirlooms and the rat are the only reasons I've come back to this hellhole. I seriously thought about leaving after I get the cloak. As the heir to a founding family, I have the option of doing so. But no way will I leave you here alone. Not with the people in this society being what they are."

Her eyes watered in relief. "Thank you," she said as she reached for his hand.

"But this 'keeping your head down' thing. Being friends with me is kind of the opposite of that… How're you going to avoid detection? I'm sure that's what got you noticed by the Weasels last time. You'd have been swept up by someone, but maybe not those particular gits."

She smiled. "Well, I, too, have been busy these last months. I didn't do all of the politicking you did, but I had my own projects. I also recreated my 'beaded bag' in this leather bag," she had a leather carry bag that some students favored for class gear. "I also snuck into Hogwarts. It was there or Knockturn Alley. I figured the vanishing cabinet here was easier – ended up I needed both… long story… anyway, I've made myself a "vanishing cabinet" to keep in contact with my parents. I also re-created the mirrors that Sirius gave you. I figured, if you didn't hate me…"

"Gimme!" Harry smiled, wiggling his fingers. She handed him the mirror, he tested it, then put it in one of the pouches of honor on the outside of his bag.

"We can eat breakfast together, too. I'll rune some chairs at the end of Ravenclaw with a minor notice-me-not first chance I get. If we eat early, it should be enough to shield us. One hour a day of adult company is not much, but…"

He nodded. "Yeah. I won't lie, Hermione. This trying to be 11 is for shit. I can't keep it up. The Dursleys know the truth."

"What?" Her eyes bulged and fists clenched. He held his hands up in surrender and shrugged.

"It worked for us. I could pretend that I hated the magical world – hell I didn't even have to pretend. I love magic, but I hate these assclowns with everything I have. So, I used that hatred and quite a few judiciously placed half-truths and compulsions to get them to do what I wanted."

Despite her conviction that she should be angry, Hermione was quite curious. "What kind of compulsions?"

"Oh, nothing major. I made Vernon and Dud channel their anger and excess hunger, both, into healthier activities. They're both taking up sport now – Vernon has dropped several stone and is talking about training for mixed martial arts or some such strangeness. Dudley also lost a metric ton of 'baby fat' and has taken up rugby with passion. Whenever Petunia gets judgmental, she cleans or does yoga. And I've compelled them all to go to a nice, wishy-washy church that tells the congregants to be nice to everyone. It works," He shrugged and she smiled.

Shaking her head in resignation, Hermione laughed. "Harry, that's brilliant," she grudgingly admitted. He grinned at her, then sobered.

"I honestly don't see how I can keep up the charade. I've tried. But mostly, I just fail. I've no patience for kiddos. I hated Ginny's kids, you know. They treated me like shite. I think they knew I wasn't their dad – hell, after I got senior auror level, I wouldn't touch that skank if she potioned me to the gills. She knew it. So, though she never said it out loud, she did what she could to make my life at home hell… But I digress. I can't relate to kids. Never could. First time around, you and the Mouth were my only company, and you were my only friend. I think the truth is, it was the same for you, yeah?" Hermione nodded. "We've always been older than our physical bodies due to circumstance."

"Well, Ravenclaws are known for being standoffish. I'll be fine there. But you're going to be right in the center. Again."

"I think I'm going to befriend Neville this time round."

"Neville?"

"Yeah. Dean and Seamus are like B1 and B2 by October, if memory serves. Neville was always odd-man-out. This time? The Weasel's gonna be on his own to sink or swim. And I know just how I'm going to alienate him, too." He got a bit of a maniacal look in his eye…

Later that evening, after a sorting with no surprises or Malfoys or Weaselys claiming friendship, thanks to a judicious application of a notice-me-not charm on the train, Harry entered the dorm with his four new (old) roommates.

He had entered a tentative conversation with Neville that Ronald kept trying to interrupt. Surreptitiously, Harry cast a compulsion on Neville to be a bit more self-confident, just to see what might happen.

"Mate, you're gonna love Gryffindor," Ronald enthused as he attempted to push Neville out of the way again. Harry caught Neville's eye and rolled his own, causing Neville to hastily cover a chortle.

"Yeah? Seems to me everyone in this room's been in Gryffindor longer than you… mate," he said, with no little sarcasm on the last term, though the attitude sailed right over the ginger's head, "as we all got sorted before you, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, but all my brothers have been Lions. It's the best house," Weasley watched while Harry went over to his trunk, checked the wards on it, then, nodding, turned to Neville, who had the bed next to him. Harry'd had his elves fix the situation so that Ronald was as far from Harry as he could be – bed-wise.

"Longbottom, right? Move your kip," Ronald demanded, trying to get the bed next to Harry. He'd picked up his own trunk and pulled his rat from his pocket.

"Whoa! What. Is. That?!" Harry said, a genuine frown of disgust on his face.

"This? Scabbers. Weasley family pet rat."

"Well. Weasley? Neville's stuff was here first. Keep your rude, pushy self on that side of the room and keep that… vermin over there, too."

"What, the Boy Who Lived scared of a little rat?" The Mouth taunted, waving the rat in Harry's general direction. Harry wondered how he had EVER considered this bullying idiot a friend.

"No, more likely I'll kill the filthy thing. They carry pestilence. Rats are nasty, and the fact that you have carried that thing in your pocket – when they pee almost constantly – shows that you must be disgusting, also. Not that anyone witnessing your eating habits at the feast wouldn't have already drawn that conclusion."

MoRon's ears had started the transition to full-on lobster red, and his cheeks were soon following. He was about to blow.

The other three boys watched the escalation of this confrontation warily. They'd just got sorted, just settled, and two boys seemed to hate each other already.

Just when things might get violent, McGonagall, their newly introduced head of house burst in.

"Your first night, and you're brandishing fisticuffs? Never in all my years…"

"First, that Weasley kid has constantly pushed me and Neville here around already. Then, he pulls that rat out of his pocket and waved it in my face. I'm sorry, Ma'am. I don't like rats. Never have. They're not on the approved list. It's not fair that he has that rat here, and not even in a cage."

"I don't like rats, either, Ma'am. I have to say I side with Harry here. And Weasley here has pushed me twice and demanded that I give him my spot. I've not met anyone here before tonight, so I'm not why he feels he can do that." Neville spoke up. Weasley was making a play to make himself the ruler of Gryffindor. Neville knew that the boy had serious bully under his skin, and Neville wasn't going to deal with 7 years of bully if he could help it.

"Mr. Weasley, your side of the story?"

"I was just trying to make friends, Professor. Not my fault they can't take a joke."

Her gimlet eye looked between all three of the boys.

"Since there was no actual fighting, no punishment will be assigned. Mr. Weasley, simply because Mr. Longbottom has the bed you want does not mean you can demand it, nor can you demand Mr. Potter's attention. Keep on your side of the room. Additionally, Mr. Potter has a point. The rat either has to be caged – all the time – or it has to return to the Burrow."

Ron glowered at the other two boys. "I'll get a cage sent from home, Ma'am," and he would forget to write that letter, conveniently, until McGonagall reminded him. Potter would just have to deal with a rat.

"I read in Hogwarts: A History that there are house elves. Do you think you could call one of them to see if a cage has been abandoned in the past in the castle?" Harry asked.

McGonagall smiled. She'd seen the disingenuity on the youngest Weasley's face – she knew the issue would come back up. Potter had given her a way out. She called a house elf who provided a cage – that Dobby had left in the castle with the elves earlier that morning. It had been abandoned in the kitchen.

And it had all sorts of anti-Peter magic on it. That rat was going to have a hell of a few months until Harry could hand him over to the DMLE.

Meanwhile, the red had spread on the ginger's face. He was furious. He'd been planning on luring Potter into his family, starting today. Now, it looked like Potter would hate his whole family. Where had the plan gone wrong?

When things had calmed and the boys were ready for sleep, Harry whispered across the small aisle.

"Thanks, Neville. It's good to have a friend for backup."

"Yeah," Neville agreed. A friend. Maybe Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

One night, early in the school year, but not too early, Harry was having a sleepless night. He took the opportunity to fly under his animagus form up to the third year boys' dorm. He wandlessly and silently unlocked and opened the trunks and called the map to himself. He had figured out sometime in the past – future – that the twins couldn't have gotten the map from Filch. It was just too random. More likely, they got it from the bearded freak – he may have changed their memories, but that map was entirely too complicated for them to figure out. So, he put it in their hands, most likely with a boat-load of compulsions.

As he studied it now, Harry saw the compulsions interwoven in the map. The compulsions were of no matter to Harry – as a most senior master auror with his training, he made mince of them in seconds. They probably discouraged the identification of the rat, and they probably would prompt the twins to give the map to Harry at the "right time."

But screw that, the right time was now. The twins would never know it still existed. Harry left behind a mess of "joke" potions and set off the dungbomb. The sealed trunk would completely self-immolate. It was too bad that they would lose some of their taunting and bullying material. Really a shame, that.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

"Happy birthday, Hermione!"

Harry and Hermione had eaten every morning together at the Ravenclaw table. One of her housemates had wondered why the Boy Who Lived sat with mousy Granger. Hermione shrugged. "We met on the train. Vowed to be friends since we, neither of us, knew absolutely nothing about Hogwarts or the magical world, in general. Now, we compare notes."

She hadn't made a big deal of it. Since Harry had taken the opportunity to make friends in all of the houses – he'd even shook hands with Malfoy, just to get The Mouth more pissed off – people were talking less about the Boy Who Lived. He was becoming Just Harry to many.

He'd never thought demystifying himself would be the key. To be anonymous, he had to be popular.

People were odd.

This morning, though, wouldn't be the exchange of insights, memories, or just thoughts that their breakfasts usually were.

Hermione couldn't repress her smile as she opened the badly-wrapped present. She opened the box to a beautifully engraved band. She had no idea what it was, and her smile faltered a little.

"One of the secrets of the aurors: besides checking every meal we eat and every drink we quaff – more discreetly than Mad Eye, of course – is this band. It blocks compulsions," Harry informed her, pointing out the rune clusters.

Her eyes widened in understanding. She put the band on her left arm. The next package was a bit bigger – she unwrapped it to find a holster. However, it was not a new holster.

"It was my mum's. I've need of a bigger one when I get older, so you can have this one." Her eyes watered that he'd given her something from his own mother. She would cherish it always. "It has anti-summoning charms on it. Oh, and the wrapping – check it out."

She flattened the parchment that Harry'd wrapped her gifts in. The wrapping of the box was a parchment with a strange incantation. "What?..." She studied the incantation and tried to put it together.

"It's my own special incantation. I studied for a long time to find the most efficient, subtle, yet broad-band potion detecting incantation I could get my wand on. I practiced it to the point where I can do it silent and with my wand in my holster…" his voice trailed off as he noticed her hands shaking.

Her lips trembled… her eyes shone.

"Harry," she whispered.

He had to get it done before she cried.

"The last part of your present is this: a promise. I will watch you. If I see any type of behavior that indicates any kind of outside control, I'll do all I can to break it. And Hermione, if you catch the wrong man's eye, I'll marry you. Simply to keep you away from them, I'll marry you. I promise."

She wanted badly to hug him. But the small notice-me-not charm she put on the seats around them at breakfast would not withstand that sort of call for speculation. People would notice, which would go against this gift on every level.

"Thank you," she whispered.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

A month or so into class, Harry noticed that his compulsion on Neville was hard to keep going. The fact that he couldn't produce wanded spells was counterproductive to self-esteem.

Harry got onto the subject of parents and wands and got Neville to tell him about Neville's wand. It was all the excuse Harry needed.

At the end of the next transfiguration class, he dragged Neville to their head of house.

"Professor McGonagall, Neville's wand isn't his. It won't work for him. Can you do anything about that?" His green eyes bored into those of his head of house. He hoped that for once she would stand for her cubs.

"What is this? Oh, Augusta, you fool. Mr. Longbottom, you will be coming with me to Ollivander's on Saturday. We shall fix this. Now, run along." She pulled out a piece of parchment to write to her old friend as the two boys left her room.

"Harry, why'd you do that?" Now that fear wasn't cowing him anymore – something about old ladies terrified Neville – he was a bit miffed that his friend was trying to get Neville's wand changed.

"I just remember Mr. Ollivander telling me that the wand chooses the wizard. You're different from your dad. No reason you shouldn't be. You deserve your own wand, Neville. Keep his for backup, but get your own!"

Neville was slightly cool to Harry for the rest of the week, but the story changed Saturday afternoon when they got back from London.

"Harry, you were right. I'm keeping my dad's wand, but this wand is so much better! Everything is so easy. Oh, and I got a letter from my Gran, she's coming to see me this week. I think she's going to apologize." Neville fingered his new wand in its holster again.

"Could I meet her?" Harry asked.

Neville frowned at the friend he had just forgiven. "Are you going to yell at her?" Neville didn't know how he felt about that.

"Maybe?" Harry grinned, nudging his friend.

Neville nodded and the two headed down to supper together. They paid no mind to the red-head who glowered at them from a corner of the common room.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

The following Wednesday evening, Neville introduced his grandmother to his new mate – Harry Potter.

"Mr. Potter, it is good to meet you," Augusta Longbottom inclined her head to the young wizard.

"Likewise, Madame. Would you care to walk?"

Neville looked at the two, realized his friend was going to yell at his grandmother now, and really, he didn't want to witness it. So he feigned having forgotten something in his dorm that he wanted to send home. Actually, he had this ruse planned all week. He didn't want to witness his grandmother taking Harry apart or vice versa. It was a no win situation for him to stick around, so he gave them space.

"I take it you have something you wish to say to me, young man?" Augusta was not so ill informed as one might think, and she was ready to put this boy in his place if he was fresh with her.

"I don't quite know how to put this, Ma'am, so I'm just going to tell you. About a year ago, I met someone . That person helped me quite a bit. Told me about the magical world, healed me, and told me a number of secrets…"

Augusta was completely confused, "Why are you telling me this?"

Harry pretended to vacillate, but had his ruse at the ready. "You're apparently one of the few who's as invested as I am in fixing some serious miscarriages of justice. Listen to me. One of the men who put Neville's parents in comas – who allowed the curse to be set – he escaped Azkaban." He could see the disbelief on her face.

"I don't know the exact details of how it happened, but apparently, Bartemius Crouch snuck his wife in to see his son in Azkaban. She was sick – maybe dying. They used something – poppyjuice? – to switch places. When the son, Junior, right?, died, under the effects of this magic, he was buried. Then, the dad tells the world the shock of losing her son, on top of her illness, was too much for his wife, and she passed. But apparently, he's got his son locked in his house. Alive. Mostly free. I was told that you would take umbridge to that."

Augusta Longbottom was irate. Bartemius Crouch had allowed – helped?! - his rabid pup to escape Azkaban, when her own son was trapped, forever, in the Janus Thickey ward?

Oh, she would get justice. If this was true, Merlin... nothing would hold her back. She couldn't bring herself to speak, but her curt nod encouraged Harry.

"I assume you'll either confirm or refute this story. If you find what I have told you is true, trust me more. Get your son and his wife out of St. Mungos – bring them home. Get me to your house sometime during winter break. I've been given the ability, maybe, to reverse some of the curse on them. Give them this potion – it's a muscle restorative and nerve regenerator. You can take it yourself if you think it's dangerous."

"What…" Augusta shook her head, looking down at the recipe for the potion. The revelations were quite shocking, and she wasn't sure how to proceed.

"Please, Madame Longbottom. Just do as I ask." Harry looked up at her with his serious Evans eyes, and she somehow knew that he had told her truth, so far as he knew. She nodded. Just then, Neville joined them. If he noticed his Gran was a bit distracted, he said nothing. Her visit was short, and he and Harry walked back in to dine, not discussing whatever it might have been that Harry had said to make Augusta Longbottom so distracted.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Halloween. Eve of the day of the dead. Day of the worst Potter luck.

Hermione had tried to put a bug in Flitwick's ear to protest celebrating Halloween. The Boy Who Lived – though he hated that moniker – was now in attendance. Wouldn't it be wrong to celebrate the murder of his parents in such a manner? Flitwick commiserated with her, but said in the end that the Headmaster had final decision, and he decided that they would tone down the celebration, but they would still honor the heroes of the war.

When they were raising their glasses to the all of the dead of the war in remembrance, something even the children of the dark could recognize as respectful, Professor Quirrel made his entrance.

"Troll, Troll in the dungeons!" he shouted and proceed to fake-faint.

"Silence!" shouted the headmaster into the chaos. "Prefects, lead your charges to your common rooms!"

"NO!" Harry shouted. Silence fell. Potter almost never called attention to himself. Why would he now?

"We should stay here! We don't know where this troll is! And sir, what if someone's stepped out of the feast? It isn't compulsory, after all…"

At that point, prefects, at the order of heads of house, took attendance. No one was missing. It also gave the Slytherin and Hufflepuff heads time to process: if they'd taken their charges to the common rooms – near the dungeons – they may have passed right by the troll!

Overruling the Headmaster, those – and the other two heads, following logic – decide to keep their charges where they knew them to be safe. Instead, the Headmaster and two other teachers left to dispatch the troll.

"I wonder if they'll contact authorities?" Hermione mumbled. Her housemates looked at her.

"What? It's common in the muggle world. We have a couple of different kinds of drills. If the building is unsafe, we have an evacuation – like a fire drill. We practice rapid and safe egress. Then, there's shelter in place. If there's a danger outside the school – like a major storm or something – we all go to a common place in the school and wait for parents to come pick us up. Finally, there's the lock down. We do that to practice what to do if there's something dangerous in the school. You stay in your room with a teacher, the room is dark and quiet so that the danger won't target you."

"Muggles practice all that? When do you have time for lessons?"

"We don't practice often, just enough to remember. Just in case."

"But why did you ask about authorities?"

Hermione shrugged. "The school's responsible to the parents and society as a whole. We're valuable resources. So when something happens, it has to be reported so that authorities can make sure the school isn't culpable and to address any changes that should be made."

"Hogwarts is autonomous," one of the older students sniffed.

"Which is all well and good, unless a troll bashes someone," another half-blood replied. The Ravenclaws had something to debate. Hermione's job was done.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

The rest of term passed. Though Harry did not get the Prophet, he heard in late November of how Bartemius Crouch had been found with an escaped convict – his own son – harbored in his basement. The father had also kept his son under constant imperius – clearly illegal actions on top of clearly illegal actions.

The trial of the son, whose new crime was escaping Azkaban, was swift, and the man was executed by means of the Veil of Death. Harry shuddered remembering his last interaction with that tapestry.

The father would be coming up for a more serious trial, just two days after Christmas. Both prosecution and defense had pushed for time to build their cases, and it promised to be the talk of every New Year ball.

Christmas morning, Harry woke to a pile of presents. He had more and gave more this time, as he bought something small for all of his new friends. He'd gotten Hermione to have her parents order simple muggle items – games and candy - that many of the wizards wouldn't have heard of. He'd taken and converted plenty of cash at Gringotts, so he could promise payment when she went home at Christmas.

He received, in return, wizarding books and toys and candy. The last time around, he'd not seen most of this stuff until much later – when GinGin bought them for her kids in some cases. Speaking of the Weasels, he noticed that he still had a Weasley jumper and tin of fudge (that just so happened to ring his potions warning system loud and clear). Banishing the fudge, he donned the sweater. No reason to make enemies of the elder Weaslels, after all. His dad's cloak was in the booty, just as in the old timeline. He checked it for compulsions and other Dumbledorian tricks, and found them. He took pleasure in destroying each and every devious addition.

The man himself was notably absent after the Christmas feast. He had a full Wizengamot session the next morning, and he needed to prepare.

The next morning, a missive came for the deputy Headmistress. She read it, looked at Harry, then moved to his table. "It seems, Mr. Potter, that Augusta Longbottom would like you to spend the rest of break with her. As she was to have had some say in your home placement, I do not have a problem with this. You may go, if you wish."

Harry held in his smirk. "I do! Thanks!"

He excused himself – ostensibly to pack, but in reality to get the tiara from the room of requirement. He'd snuck there twice, mapping the room and gathering as many goblin-made items as he could find. He figured a bit of extra payola to the little creeps couldn't hurt. He'd also, during the last quiddich game of term, snuck through the trials and stolen Flamel's stone, if, indeed that was what it was. He'd replaced it with a stone that looked the same and would, for at least a while, have the same magical echo.

The pain in the ass goblins were going to be seriously in debt to House Potter.

Harry greeted Neville with a grin and Neville's gran more sedately. "Happy Christmas, Ma'am. Thank you for the invitation."

She acknowledged his thanks while having one of her elves take his things to Neville's suite. "My son and daughter are now in residence. They'd been in the long-term care ward at Mungo's, but I thought perhaps it was time to bring them home.

Harry nodded and a message went between them. She led the way and Neville sedately followed her.

"Mum, Dad, this is my friend, Harry," Neville announced to the two figures. They were both abed, though Harry knew that Alice was not bed-ridden. They looked a bit healthier than they had in his memory. Of course, this was almost a decade earlier and Mrs. Longbottom had been potioning them with muscle healer.

"This is why the cruciatus curse is unforgivable. They are locked like this because of what those animals did."

Harry looked at his host and at his friend.

"I was told that is not the case. I was told it was a Black curse. I am Heir Black and have been trained. I can reverse it. I was told how." Gathering his magic, he silently cast the Black family countercurse.

He healed Alice.

The amount of magic passing through him made him stagger. But he held it, and her eyes started to brighten.

"Oh Merlin! She's becoming more responsive!" Augusta whispered.

When he was done, Harry sat on the floor. Casting that had wiped him out, but Alice was aware. She was crying and hugging her family.

While Neville was engrossed in talking with his mother, Augusta looked down at the boy on the floor. She helped him up and took him to a chair on the other side of the room.

"I know you did it, but I still do not know how. How am I to explain?" Her voice wandered off as she watched mother and son reacquaint themselves.

Harry smiled gently. "Call it a Christmas miracle. Now. You're going to do one for me. Your family isn't the only one that's been affected by the skewed sense of Crouch justice. My godfather was thrown into Azkaban without a trial. You get a trial for Sirius Black, and I'll heal your son. No matter the outcome of the trial."

"Never got a trial?! Preposterous. I remember…" and as she searched her memory, she realized she didn't remember. "But surely you know that, now that I know of this miscarriage of justice, I'll do all I can…"

Harry's eyes turned cold.

"Put plainly: I don't trust many people. I don't trust you. I trust Neville – he's a true mate. He's told me stories, though. You allowed your brother to drop Neville out of a window. To see if he had magic. He has magic - loads of it. You've done nothing to help and everything to hurt that magic. You never even got him his own wand! You're just like all the other adults – only doing something if you thought of it first. So, no, I don't trust you. But you had a lot to gain from getting the truth about Crouch out there. You have much to gain – now – from making sure justice is done for my godfather. No one else can heal your son. I can. I think it's a fair trade. You get Sirius a trial. I'll heal your son."

Augusta Longbottom felt some sort of shame deep inside – she knew that boy was correct. So, she put an emergency floo call to her friend, Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE. Bones had been with Augusta when she had uncovered the truth about Crouch, so Bones was inclined to believe the source that told Madame Longbottom about the Black travesty. Amelia had not been at all involved in Black's incarceration, so she had nothing to gain or lose by investigating. When she found that no trial had been held, she put it on the Wizengamot slate.

It would be held in the first days of the new year – just days before the Hogwarts Express was to head back to Scotland. All believed it to be a mere formality; a crossing of the t's and dotting of the i's. In fact, most thought that Black would be insane from dementor exposure. But it was bad precedence to withhold the right of a trial from a man – especially the head of a pureblood clan. All, from the minister to the Wizengamot clerk, agreed upon the need for a trial.

The morning of the trial, Harry healed Frank Longbottom. An auror came to escort Harry to the trial, as a favor to Madame Longbottom, and he left the Longbottom family to begin to heal.

At the trial, Harry took a seat in the visitor's gallery. He found a place behind a column so that the Chief Warlock would not immediately see (and evict) Harry. Harry watched the opening questions and the veritiserum testimony. He sat, stoic, through the revelations made by Sirius Black. And after the questioning, he made his way out of the gallery to the offices. He knew that Madame Bones would not have vacated the building yet.

"I'd like to speak to Madame Bones," Harry informed one of the aurors outside her office – a younger Kingsley Shacklebolt, he was certain.

"You and everyone else, young man. She's not seeing fans right now."

"I'm not exactly a fan," Harry said, pulling his hair back from his forehead.

The auror sighed, knowing that the publicity of shunning the Boy Who Lived could hurt his career. "Madam Bones, urgent visitor to see you."

Harry stepped out from behind the auror. "I have information pertaining to Mr. Black's testimony, I think."

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. It would do no harm to listen to the child.

"Ma'am, as Mr. Black described the rat, I put it together. My roommate has a rat. It's been in his family for over ten years. It's missing a toe. From the first second I saw it, I wanted to kill it. I think maybe I remembered him even though I didn't remember… do you know what I mean?"

"Subconsciously? Perhaps Mr. Potter," She paused, thinking over the matter. What could it hurt to send an auror to check it out? If nothing else, she could build a bridge with the boy hero.

"Kingsley, take another auror. Go to Hogwarts. Check this rat out."

Shrugging almost visibly (but not actually shrugging, as that would be insubordinate), Kingsley grabbed Milton and they floo-ed to the Deputy Headmistress's office. Harry had to trust that they would get the rat without letting him escape. After all, Kingsley wasn't a bad auror, he'd just enslaved Harry out of convenience.

The two aurors were back within half an hour, and Milton was quite pale-faced. They had, indeed, found Peter Pettigrew, who was marched between them in magic-suppressing manacles.

There would be a trial for the rat in the following day – yet ANOTHER emergency session. At that trial, Pettigrew realized the jig was up. His dark mark was gone. He was caught. But he truly was a rat, and if he was going down, he was going to do as much damage as possible. In his testimony, he recounted betraying the Potters, but not just them. He had given over several members of Dumbledore's group: Edgar Bones, the Prewitt twins, the list went on. He recounted blowing up the street and confounding Black in order to escaped. He had no sorrow over killing a dozen muggles or breaching the statute of secrecy. He had continued living a life of crime. When asked to explain, he took great delight in telling tales of how he liked to muck about with kids at the school. How redheads particularly appealed, as they reminded him of that bitch Lily and getting one over on James. Sometimes he'd make the kiddies cooperate, sometimes he'd let them fight. Depended on what he wanted that particular night. He grinned as he told of how he'd boned Elizabeth Bones, she of the big rack, red hair, and unfortunately blue eyes, in every manner possible. Of course, he didn't see the eyes when he rogered her, so that was his favorite method of taking her. Oh, yes, he'd enjoyed his decade at Hogwarts. He was good at silencing, healing, and temporary memory charms. But he'd just bet that some of them would start to remember. Shame, that. His only regret was that it was at an end. When Potter had thrown the fit at the beginning of the year, he thought he'd be returned to the burrow. The youngest Weasley wasn't quite old enough yet for his taste, but that just meant she'd be tight. And she had her mother's mouth. Had to be good for something. Instead, he'd been locked in a cage that somehow he'd been unable to magic open.

After some initial mutterings, the chambers grew more and more silent as he went on his vile tirade. It was too much even for outrage.

Needless to say, Peter Pettigrew was given to the dementors that afternoon.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Harry didn't see the trial, though. In the confusion he created by revealing Pettigrew, he exited the ministry and made his way to Diagon Alley. He figured the aurors would be too busy to worry about him. Harry sent a message to Madame Longbottom, in case she did worry, that he would spend the rest of his holidays at his home.

Entering Gringotts, he asked to meet with Ragnok. The goblin at the desk began to snarl then realized who the client was. He nodded instead. "Follow."

Harry waited patiently for the command, then followed his goblin guard when they heard the bellow, "Enter!"

"Leave us," Ragnok commanded the other goblin. When the door closed, Harry asked permission to get out the bags. Ragnok nodded.

"This bag has the tiara. I don't want to touch it." Harry put the bag on the desk. Ragnok put up a hand and muttered. The bag glowed. He nodded and called for an assistant. The assistant took it out.

"It will be done. Anything else?" he asked. Harry smiled.

Pulling out the next bag, Harry opened it. "I believe that much of this is goblin-made. I know that there is a tradition among goblins that would have goblin-made metalwork returned to the horde?"

Narrowing his eyes, Ragnok nodded. He then pulled the bag to himself, did the muttering (some sort of check, Harry supposed), and then began pulling items from the bag.

He almost smiled, Harry was sure of it.

"Yes, you have done well to return our items to us. Is that all?"

Greedy blighter, Harry thought, but occluded. "One last thing. The headmaster had hidden this in Hogwarts. I believe it HAD been in vault 713… though I am not certain. I don't know for sure, but it is purported to be Nicholas Flamel's philosopher's stone."

Opening the bag himself, Harry pulled out the blood-red stone.

The goblin's eyes looked at Harry, then down at the dull-red stone.

"Why would you?" He asked, reaching for the stone. Harry handed it over without a qualm.

"I think anything that makes gold from lead would be a clear violation of the treaty betwixt humans and goblins. I wouldn't want to do that. Beyond that, it is the reason that Gringott's was broken into. If you decide to, you can return it to the Flamels for a finder's fee and recoup your reputation," Harry shrugged. It was up to them, really. He just didn't want it in Dumbledore's foul hands, as he could totally see that mad wizard using it for himself.

"I found the other stuff," Harry continued, "so if there's any finder's fee, could you use it toward any over-expenditures in the hunt for the pieces or the destruction of the diary?"

"It shall be done, wizard." For the first time, that word did not come out of Ragnok's mouth as a curse. They both got up and Harry turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, he turned around.

"Oh, I hear Bartemius Crouch is selling off everything. If his elf, Winky, comes up for sale, could you purchase her for me? My house is in need of a female touch."

Ragnok nodded, not taking his eyes from the magical red stone. Harry smirked and left.

Making his way to Number 12, Grimmauld place, he began organizing his rooms to his own taste and he spent time with the elves. He told the Lady Black of the true history of the madman she'd sacrificed her son to, and she was so abashed at being fooled by a mudblood that she silenced herself. Sirius was in Mungo's – and would be for a few months – but through constant communication – Harry was able to spur Padfoot's memory enough to get the communication mirrors out of the vault – they got to know each other. Harry let Sirius know that he'd inherited the Black heir ring and had started cleaning up the family home. Sirius grimaced, but Harry wheedled. They would live there when Hogwarts let out. He still had a term to get through, but that, too, would pass.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… err castle, Quirrel was a mess. He had been unable to find a way to get to the stone. The unicorns had been absent from the forest all year (he didn't know that, at the beginning of the year, Harry gone out of his way to warn the centaurs to warn the unicorns… which actually worked) Additionally, Voldemort feared that he had felt his soul pieces being destroyed all year, though he could not believe that any would find them. The old meddler certainly hadn't. Voldemort was here, teaching right under the bastard's abnormally large nose. But, just to verify, Voldemort forced Quirrel to make his way to the hidden room. They wandered through the maze of junk and turned the final corner to find that the tiara was gone.

Understanding his soul was now completely unanchored, and his host's body was falling apart, Voldemort knew he needed the stone immediately. Still he couldn't get around the blasted dog, and he couldn't afford any physical injuries. It was a quandary.

He stuttered through meetings and made appearances at mealtimes: it wouldn't do to make the old man suspicious now. Voldemort was incredibly aware of just how vulnerable he was at that point. Most of his time was spent with his head down, searching his prodigious memory for some other way out, some other ritual, some other plan…

On the night of his first dinner back, Harry was ready to make his move. He left the Gryffindor table just as he saw Quirrel entering the room. As they had planned through mirror communication earlier, Hermione also got up from her table. The two made their way out as Quirrel made his way in, and there was no way for all three to pass without contact, unless the two teens stepped aside. They, however, were "lost in talk" of their respective holidays. Quirrel was lost in his own thoughts.

Harry "accidentally" collided with Quirrel, then, stammering an apology, grabbed the man's hand to help him up.

Harry hid his smile behind faux amazement as, once again, his mother protected him. Quirrel's body, unenhanced by unicorn blood, fell to dust quickly, and the spirit of Voldemort rose out of it.

Students and faculty all around were watching now. Some had screamed. When they realized it was a malignant spirit – one of the teachers screamed "He Who Must Not Be Named" while Snape just mouthed "the Dark Lord!"

The spirit tried to rally. It tried to curse Harry. But it couldn't. There were no anchors to hold it to Earth, and it sunk to the ground, through the floor, and into Hell.

Dumbledore was stymied. He and many of the staff and students witnessed the "confrontation." He was sure that Voldemort would simply fly off to inhabit another living being. To see the shade being cast into the pit was more than he could comprehend.

It was completely obvious that Voldemort was gone.

As the spirit fell to the floor, so too did the potions' master. Around the country, wizards with a certain mark in common felt a drain on their magic. Their master tried to use them to cling to life. It didn't work. But it did permanently remove a large portion of most of their cores.

And thus ended Voldemort, not with a bang, but a whimper.

'

~~~this is a scene break~~~

'

Over the next few years, Harry and Hermione had a "normal" set of Hogwarts experiences. Harry never became "mates" of any sort with Ron, and when GinGin started the next school year, he avoided her like the plague. Hermione and Harry continued to break their fast together daily, and when – despite her downplay of both her physical and mental attributes – she caught the eye of some purebloods (as was evidenced by the failed compulsions and unconsumed potions), Harry honored his word. They went to Gringotts over the Christmas break, and in the company of Sirius and Hermione's parents, wrote up a betrothal contract. Either one of them could break it, and if it wasn't honored by the time they were eighteen, it would automatically dissolve. But it protected both of them from purebloods who wanted their blood and talent.

Since that there weren't many pureblood patriarchs left, due to the great squibbing sickness of 1992 (that all of those who succumbed to illness were "former" death eaters was just a coincidence, of course), the heirs were under orders to bolster the bloodlines, no matter the cost. Hermione and Harry were determined not to be a cost. It took constant vigilance, but they managed to make it to 17 (Hermione stuck until the summer just to protect Harry) before they withdrew from Hogwarts. They'd managed to quietly get word to most of the others who might be at risk to do the same. Not all of the other half bloods and muggleborn listened or heeded the advice, but Harry and Hermione couldn't save everyone. The last time they had tried, they'd paid with their freedom.

The Hogwarts years were dead boring, aside from the attempted potionings and compulsions. No basilisks roamed the halls and no prison escapees broke in hither and yon. The dementors stayed at Azkaban and Delores Umbridge stayed in the Ministry. The Dursleys moved out of Privet Drive in the summer after Harry's first year, and though Arabella Figg notified Dumbledore, there wasn't a great deal that he could do to get them back from Australia, not that he needed to. Since Harry was already living at Number 12 Grimmauld Place with three elves, though no one knew it, Harry wasn't even around for Dumbledore to take charge of. By July, Sirius had gotten a clean bill of health and had moved in with his godson. The man was quite bitter that he'd never been given a trial, though he'd abandoned his family for Dumbledore. He never trusted the old man again, and blocked that old man from interacting with Harry as much as guardianship would allow.

The tri-wizard tournament came to town, and Harry's name didn't come out of the Goblet. Fleur caught the eye of a Weasley, and Harry warned her (anonymously, of course) to have herself checked for potions and compulsions regularly. Whether she ignored his warning or if she truly loved the weasel, Harry would never know, but she married him just as she had in the previous timeline. Harry shrugged it off: he'd tried.

Hermione took a young Luna Lovegood under her wing, keeping the worst of the bullies at bay. When they started up, she cursed them in clever, understated ways that made them more concerned with why their underwear kept ripping inconveniently or why they kept getting spots just when a boy started to notice them than to worry about Loony.

Ron, having no one to help him with his work and no best mate pulling him into adventure and fame, settled quickly into ignominy. He was well known for his horrific eating habits, rude manners, short temper, and lack of any real skill at anything. That his family had harbored the horrific Peter Pettigrew – child molester – was another black mark against him. He would have been pitied if he were at all likable. As it was, he even managed to repel Dean and Seamus, the last two Gryffindor boys of their year, by insulting the things they liked best. He graduated with a single newt in charms and went to work for his brothers in their prank store.

Fred and George Weasley fared somewhat better. They never made Harry's shit list because they never did anything to be on it. They had been, at worst, minor bullies, but loss of their pranking products induced them to work on replacements – and they made the replacements even better. Their joke products were better in this timeline than they had been in the last, and they were able to get funding on their own for the shop.

Dumbledore spent much of his time covering his bases. One of the Ravenclaws had, indeed, written home (to a wizengamot and board member) about the troll. That inquiry was just closing as the Black trial came about. Dumbledore would have tried to cover that, but was completely unprepared. Never mind what happened when Pettigrew was uncovered. He was still receiving howlers about that, and was trying to fend off an investigation by throwing the Weasley's under the lorry when Voldemort popped out of Quirrel's head and a death eater dropped in the great hall.

Hogwarts wards were gone over by a fine-toothed comb. Wards that had been deactivated so that Severus could work there, even with a dark mark, were reactivated. The anti-animagus ward was added. Ward schemes were enhanced so that Dumbledore no longer felt the castle was his personal play-toy. Indeed, it was made quite clear to him that he was now nothing more than a figurehead, and his responsibility was limited to classes, alone. All other responsibilities were passed to a new, full-time administrator. Classes might still be bad, but at least Hogwarts was safe for the children again.

Even with the extra free time to ponder, Dumbledore was never quite able to figure out what happened to Tom Riddle. All of his calculations and prognostications and plans never had room for the leader of the dark bowing out in such a… blasé fashion. Instead, Dumbledore started to be held accounted for all of the positions that he held. He had hoped to go out in a blaze of glory but instead his fate seemed to be… paperwork. Parents were starting to question the caliber of the teachers he put in place; newer members of the wizengamot (replacing the squbs who'd so suddenly created a vacuum with the true fall of Voldemort) began criticizing his policies.

The status quo was rapidly becoming a status no, and Harry Potter remained a quiet, diligent, bright student who wanted nothing to do with being the Boy Who Lived. Instead he became the boy who worked and hung out with Neville Longbottom (and sometimes others). When he withdrew from Hogwarts, along with a certain Ravenclaw who'd avoided at least three known marriage traps, Dumbledore thought he smelled a conspiracy. Who exactly had been this Hermione Granger that had been friends with the Potter boy from day one of the boy's tenure at Hogwarts? But before he could stick his prodigiously long nose into their business, the Boy Who Lived Abandons Hogwarts due to Lack Of Standards headline hit.

Dumbledore was caught up in the whirlwind. He lost his position as headmaster. He was removed from office without being able to gather his things, and his journals were quite the eye-opener. He'd known Sirius Black was innocent. He'd known the Longbottoms would be attacked. He'd known how to heal them. He'd known about several potioning incidents that led to unwanted marriage contracts on one side or another. And he'd just stood back and let it happen. In some instances, he'd helped it to happen.

No, he did not go out in a blaze of glory. It was a blaze, alright, but more like a burning at the stake. He began to be blamed for things he didn't even do. If someone felt something went unexplainedly, catastrophically wrong in their lives, they called it being Dumbledored.

Harry and Hermione both watched this happen through the friends they made. Luna and Neville were the only two who knew how to contact the now muggle-dwelling duo. They never made good on their betrothal (Hermione eventually married an older Frenchman – a squib, actually, who was a brilliant mathematician.) Harry married the Chilean witch who tutored him in the parsletongue talent with which he'd been born. In Chile, however, the magicals were few and far between and lived in the nonmagical world which suited Harry down to the ground.

Twenty seven years later, with his kids around him, reading a letter from his brilliant friend Hermione he reached up and rubbed his scar that hadn't bothered him a bit in decades.

All was truly well.

(fin)


End file.
